Chapter 12
They stopped at a food stand tucked beneath an awning along a road lined with tenement buildings. The heavyset man greeted Felix by name, and after an excruciating amount of small talk, handed them each something wrapped in thin paper already soaked through with grease.
When August tried to peel it open, Felix said, “Not yet.”
They walked another block before Felix, without warning, veered toward a building that dominated an entire corner.
Laughen & Son’s Shipping was painted directly onto the soot-darkened brick, the huge letters faded. The five-story structure loomed overhead, a few of the windows boarded over, a pulley jutting from its side. Neat stacks of barrels flanked the two massive wooden doors reinforced with iron bands.
Felix pushed one open and shot August an expectant look.
This was stupid. He’d just learned that Felix was a wielder, that he hadn’t been honest. Now they were in a scary part of the city he’d never seen before, and he was expected to follow this boy he barely knew into an abandoned building?
“You could wait out here,” Felix said. “Though, I don’t recommend it. Especially dressed like that.”
He shrugged and disappeared inside.
August scanned the street nervously, weighing his options. He couldn’t see the castle from here. Even if he wanted to go home, he wouldn’t know which direction to go.
Finally he cursed and followed through the door.
Inside was a wide, open space with wooden planks stacked along one wall and crates piled against another, illuminated only by the glow of a streetlamp filtering through the windows. The floorboards were scarred from years of heavy cargo, and the stale air smelled of lumber and old tea.
Felix led the way up a broad set of stairs, bypassing the second, third, and fourth floor until they reached the top. He crossed the space and lowered himself carefully onto the floor in front of a full-length window with no glass, then glanced back at August. “Not afraid of heights, are you?”
August shrugged. “Not really.” He noted the gap Felix had left between him and the windowsill. “Are you?”
“I am yeah,” Felix replied, unwrapping the greasy paper. Whatever it was, it smelled incredible. “Well, it’s more the idea of plummeting to my death than the height itself.”
August sat, feet dangling out into the cool night air. He unwrapped his own parcel, took a bite, and couldn’t help the sound that escaped him. Pork, tender and juicy, seasoned to perfection, the outside crispy and deep fried and dripping with grease.
After another bite, he asked, “Why come up here then?”
Felix motioned to the city spread out below them. “For the view. The scariest things are often the most worthwhile.”
“You sound like Lottie.” August stared out at the crooked rooftops and chimney stacks, following the winding streets.
His eyes widened. “We’re in the Copperhill District.
” What would Lottie say if she knew he’d wandered this far?
He doubted she’d ever been here. It was a nice thought, that he’d finally done something she wasn’t brave enough to do. Even if it was unintentional.
“My favorite part of Fallowmoor,” Felix replied. “It’s where I lived for most of my life, until we got the pub.”
From up here, August could see where the city shifted—tenement buildings and factories giving way to the domes and spires of the Crestwell District to the north, and the modest brownstones of Conaeld to the northwest. At their meeting point lay the open sweep of the market square.
Beyond Crestwell, faint against the dark sky, rose the silhouette of the castle.
He forced his gaze from his home and looked down at the street below.
A cat lounged lazily on the edge of a low building.
Curtains billowed from a dark window, thrown open to let in the cool night air.
Soft piano notes drifted from another. A man walking by stumbled, shouting something slurred and incoherent as a cart creaked past. Somewhere nearby, metal clanged loudly, the sound echoing down the narrow lane, followed by laughter that floated above the buildings.
The harsh tang of tanneries and factory smoke curled together with the smell of food cooking, and beneath it, the faint scent of incoming rain.
“I love it,” August said softly.
When the food was gone and their stomachs full, Felix crumpled the papers and tossed them aside.
Something moved in the shadows of the massive room, and August startled, his eyes snapping toward the shape. The man’s arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, half his skull caved in. An anchored. Not surprising in a place with heavy cargo and high drops. Violent deaths led to tethered souls.
“What’s wrong?” Felix asked, watching him closely.
“Nothing. Must have been a pigeon or something.”
Felix studied him another moment, eyes narrowed, before he scooted forward, his leg brushing against August’s as he joined him in the windowsill.
The anchored man didn’t acknowledge them, only paced the length of the floor, then dragged himself down the stairs at a creeping pace.
“So, you’re afraid of birds,” Felix said, “but not heights.”
“It’s a perfectly reasonable fear,” August retorted. “Heights won’t peck your eyes out, but a bird certainly will.”
Felix laughed. “Any other perfectly reasonable fears I should know before I plan our next outing?”
Warmth spread through August at the ease with which Felix spoke of a next time, and he decided in that moment there would be one.
“I hate enclosed spaces.”
With an enthusiastic nod, Felix said, “Me too. We’ll avoid that one. What else?”
Ruling, August answered silently. The anchored, someone learning my secret, being sent to Fallowmoor prison for a power I never even wanted.
None of those fears he could share, so he simply said, “My mother.”
Felix gave him a searching look. “Is that why you’re staying with your cousin?”
August regretted opening his mouth. He didn’t want to lie to Felix more than he had to. “I just needed to get away for a while, that’s all.”
“Do you plan on going back?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
Felix must have sensed his discomfort, because he turned back to the city and said lightly, “I suppose it’s my turn then.” He paused, thinking. “I’m afraid of dying before I’ve done something that matters. I’m afraid of being forgotten, and that my life won’t count for anything.”
A twinge of guilt stirred in August at the raw honesty in the words, and for a moment, he wished he could tell Felix the truth.
Then Felix added with a smile, “And those damned little ceramic gnomes they leave in their gardens in the Crestwell District.”
The answer was so bizarre, such a sudden, jarring shift in tone, that August choked out a surprised laugh.
“But you think my fear of birds is strange?”
“Blame Marlow,” Felix said. “She stole one once, and I woke to the cursed thing in my bed.” He winced. “Its awful little face was right there, staring at me. Don’t think I’ll ever be over it.”
As the rain fell, the conversation drifted to the upcoming summer, and by the time they climbed back down the stairs and started toward the market square, August had all but forgotten the banquet and his brief meltdown.
Felix offered to walk him home, but August, of course, declined, and they parted ways with their plans for the coming weeks already in place.